


Recoup

by Nidodin



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Hunt!Daisy, Kinda, Major Character Injury, Mild Gore, Monster!Jon, Post-Canon, although thats not necessarily here, i just wanted more jon and daisy friendship, martin gets injured but dw hes ok, monster!daisy, post 160, this took me so long to finish whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:27:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23176948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nidodin/pseuds/Nidodin
Summary: On their way home, Martin and Jon run into a friend.
Relationships: Jonathan Sims & Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Martin Blackwood & Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 2
Kudos: 83





	Recoup

After the sky turned its unending attention downwards, Martin only let them stay in the safe haven of the cottage for a few days. He feared that whatever beings had been summoned would come for them, attracted by the vulnerability of the precious Archivist. Neither of them were fit to protect themselves in whatever this newfound world was, and Martin’s immediate goal was to make it back to London.  
A while after his grim proclamation of the status of the sky, Jon’s only reaction to any of Martin’s fretting had been grabbing his sleeve once. Martin had hoisted Jon into his arms and ferried him back to the bedroom, tucked safely away from the open windows to outside. When he’d turned away to go make tea, secure the cottage, something, Jon’s hand had shot out from around his waist and snagged Martin’s sleeve. There was no other movement from Jon, not even the raising of his eyes to plead to Martin’s soft heart, but still, he sighed and curled up at the headboard, tucking Jon in close to him.  
When they’d first gotten to Daisy’s safehouse, after sleeping for a day or so, Jon’s first order of business had been to make it as clean as possible. Martin helped when he could, but Jon seemed to prefer to work alone, unhurried but meticulous. If he was honest, Martin enjoyed watching him putter about, muttering softly to himself and not hiding his scornful reactions to the amount of dust or a lack of supplies. When he found the first weapon, there was a clatter, a yelp and Jon shooting backwards, prompting Martin to go help. He’d been sweeping under a short end table, and knocked loose a sleek, black handgun from underneath. Delicately, Martin gathered up the pistol from the floor and placed it into a nearby basket that had been holding blankets. When he’d turned back, Jon was slumped into the wall and shaking. Martin held out his hand until Jon reached back, and they didn’t clean anymore that day. After that, whenever he found one, Jon would gingerly pick up the weapon (or ask Martin to) and slip it in the basket which they decided would go into an unused closet once they - hopefully - had all of them.  
It was in this basket that Martin searched through before they left. He’d found small, sheathed survival knives - one of which was now tucked into Jon’s coat and the other in his own. He knew it wouldn’t be enough for whatever lurked outside now, but he couldn’t bring himself to grab anything bigger or deadlier (not that he’d even know how to use it. Jon might Know, but Martin didn’t want him to). There hasn’t been much use for them within the first few days of their course, but Martin had been able to see some of what’d been provoked with Jon’s last statement from a distance. They needed something.

When Martin had coaxed Jon out of his despondency enough to move, and they’d begun heading back south. Originally, Martin hadn’t known where to go, but the moment he’d hesitated at the cross of the main road, Jon had caught his hand, pointed in the direction he Knew to go, and began to walk, slipping out of his earlier panic. Although he didn’t know if it was the best idea to go there, Martin figured it was fitting to go back where it started. He didn’t have a clue where they were by now, but when he hadn’t forced him to stop for a break, Jon persisted. He seemed to know not only how to get where they were going, but also to avoid the few dangers that traipsed the countryside.  
Despite the few people that had been in the nearby village, there must’ve been enough fear to attract something of the Desolation. A few houses looked severely burnt, along with their fields, and both of them could smell the ash and havoc in the air. The well at the center of the town had been enveloped in a rust colored mold - one Jon adamantly steered them away from. The only sign of the previous locals was a few slumped figures closer to the center of the village. There were no screams, no movement, just pure, ongoing silence and the slow rhythm of their footsteps. Jon and Martin continued towards the other edge of town. Neither were keen on dealing with people, fear-afflicted or not. Despite his recent work in separating himself, Martin would be perfectly willing to use the Lonely to keep others away from them.  
A few days (if those existed anymore - light still existed, despite the giant eye replacing the sun, but it never darkened. Unless it was the Dark.) into their journey, Martin began to notice something following them, something watching them. It wasn’t the same Watching he was used to, what with being at the institute or with Jon. Instead there was a tension in the air - they were a mouse, creeping out of its hiding spot to see if it’s safe. Jon didn’t seem to be aware of it yet, preoccupied with getting them back to London, or maybe he knew and didn’t care when there were other things to focus on. It didn’t seem keen to reveal itself, staying just out of they’re range, and Martin didn’t want to bring it up to Jon if it wasn’t going to harm them. It was just another monster to deal with when it decided it had had enough watching. They’d had some experience dealing with different beings, mostly those of the Slaughter or the Flesh - ones that would approach them - and though they’d seen a few of the Hunters, none had followed like this. There were signs everywhere of the havoc wreaked by the entities; roads shifted and went to nowhere, large and random pits open in the ground, buildings that had different assortments of headaches. Although they were unsure of its origin, there was always a dull roar of static, accompanied by sporadic screams or roars - be it people or creatures. In order to protect themselves when they rested, Jon and Martin agreed to start sleeping in shifts; four shifts of two hours whenever they felt they needed to sleep (albeit, less than they should’ve). Sometimes both were awake regardless, and sat talking or in a not-quite-silent silence.  
When Martin’s second shift came in a flat they’d broken into just past Darlington, Jon nudged him awake and then nodded off against him, head pillowed on Martin's thigh. After a while of flipping through a book he’d picked up at their last refuge, Martin grew restless. He gently wriggled out of his place and stood, stretching, and then moving for his gear. When they’d gone in earlier, he’d seen a small storefront just next door and he thought he might find something useful. Maybe he could find breakfast for the two of them, if no one had combed through it yet for food. He felt a little guilty for not waking Jon, but they both needed the sleep when they could get it and Jon really needed it. He found the edge of a paper and left a short note and placed it in his spot on the floor, telling Jon where he was if he woke. There was no way for Jon to know how long he would be gone, but Martin didn’t plan on taking very long. He didn’t think Jon would wake, regardless.  
He quietly swung open the front door, and stepped onto the stoop, scanning the street surrounding him. Based on the window decals, the store next door was called Callum’s Market which did Martin just fine for what he was looking for. Luckily (like most places), the door was unlocked and Martin could enter easily. It seemed as though no one had been here since everything had started, and Martin sighed in relief. It would be a good place to replace supplies. He started quickly, perusing through the short shelves that wound through the room, going for anything non-perishable that he could fit in his backpack. After scrounging for a few minutes, a bright blue wrapper catches his eye - chocolate bars. He pauses for a moment, his hand hovering over them, and then he tucks a few carefully deep into his backpack.  
Once he was sure he’d cleared as much as they could carry out, he hefted his bag onto his shoulder, and left the store, not bothering to close the door behind him.  
He stepped out onto the street, into the gaze of that interminable eye, and back towards the flat with Jon inside. Something made the hairs on his neck rise, and he scanned the street before going further - but found nothing and continued to their door warily. A few feet before reaching the few front steps, the feeling reappeared. He turned, almost hitting what had suddenly appeared.  
In front of him now stood a beast, large and supported by lean, powerful legs and a bulky frame. It was in rough shape, huffing and wheezing and covered in wounds. The biggest was a large slash that oozed gore down it’s left shoulder, but smaller cuts and burns and other injuries were strewn across its body. Its sand-colored fur was overlaid with dirt or blood. The heavy panting from its maw dribbled out saliva intermixed with red, and a front canine was missing on its upper jaw. It’s gaze was glacial and wary, six eyes fixed directly on Martin and he matched it with two, rooted to the ground. They each waited, expecting the other to make the first move. A beast of the Hunt, then. Far above them, the interminable eye watched patiently, waiting for this round to end so it could move to the next.  
After some time, Martin decided he was making the first move and slowly put his things on the ground. The creature gave no reaction aside from a shifting of it’s balance and its eyes as they followed him. As soon as his hand moved to the hunting knife sheathed at his hip and clasped the handle, it’s lips curled up and its eyes grew manic, and then the beast lunged forward, covering the distance between them in easy, loping strides. Its teeth sunk into his arm as Martin held it up to shield his face, and then he tumbled to the ground. He cried out as it clamped down hard, pulling his arm with it when it rose over him. It dithered again, letting rivulets of blood and slobber curl down into his face. He scrunched his face tight, waiting for it to bring its hunt to a close. A few moments passed, and there was nothing, just the gentle drip, drip, drip of fluid and harsh huffs of hot breath on his face, and the thundering of his heart. He peeked his eyes open to again meet the steely gaze of his aggressor. Martin began to think it was waiting for something, but what? Was this creature of the Hunt waiting for it’s chase to continue? Slowly, Martin forced himself to relax. He didn’t expect to escape or overthrow the creature, but he might buy himself time. 

For something. 

The beast gave a sharp huff and snarled, letting go of his arm, which fell to his chest. Martin gasped and whimpered, but didn’t move further. Curiously, he watched as it’s head shot up instead, focusing on something behind his head. And then there was the sound of a door flung open, a click, and then a voice.  
“Martin! Martin, what’s- oh.” Jon stopped immediately where he was and Martin heard his jaw clack shut. On top of him, Martin saw the snarl begin anew, but snarl was the wrong word. The rumble from its throat was less of a growl and more like the creature was pleased Jon had interrupted. Martin shifted minutely, tilting his head back to get a glimpse of Jon on the stoop.  
Softly, Martin breathed out, “Jon, go back inside.” Jon unfroze and shifted forward slightly.  
Another click and Tim’s voice, “I- I’m not just going to leave you down here.” His hands unthinkingly gestured to the beast and it arched down over Martin and gave another more agitated growl. Jon’s movement stopped abruptly and he shifted his hands up in a surrender.  
Click. “...Wait,” Again, he stepped forward and slowly held his hand out closer to its face. As he moved towards it, the beast moved backwards, looking torn between remaining over Martin and fleeing the Archivist’s touch. It seemed to have made a decision because after a few paces, it was no longer above Martin and he was able slowly sit up, holding his injured arm to his chest. Jon was now just behind him but moving around him, continuing to push the beast back.  
“Jon! Jon stop, it’s enough.” Martin rose to his feet gingerly and made to follow, but Jon’s other hand swung back and motioned for him to stop. So he did. He watched Jon follow the beast to the middle of the street where it stopped and gave a short, defensive bark. Martin gaped at the fragile crown of pale green eyes that circled Jon’s head, having witnessed the Archivist but never with that. With less than a metre between them, Jon halted, still holding his hand up to the creatures face. It stood much taller than him, so his fingers moved to curl in its mane. As soon as his hand makes contact, the beast lowers its head until it bumps into his shoulder, and gives another great huff.  
Jon looks over, into its face, and smoothes his other hand down its snout. Click. “Daisy, can you reach me?” Whirr, Click. “I’m here, Daisy.” It keens into his shoulder and Martin watches as it slowly curls into itself in front of Jon, who follows it to the ground and continues to stroke its face. By the time they’re settled on the street, with the beast’s - no, Daisy’s- head in Jon’s lap, Martin has slowly shuffled to a few feet behind them. He isn’t sure how long they stay there, Jon reassuring Daisy and Martin watching. It was far past what they should’ve and Martin worried they’d be interrupted if they didn’t move inside.  
Just as Martin was thinking of fitting a large, entity-aligned creature into the borrowed flat, Jon fell silent and shifted forward, aligning his scarred palm with the bridge of Daisy’s snout. He inhaled deeply, and his eyes fluttered shut. When he exhaled, Daisy gave a sharp wail and her limbs slowly warped inwards, cracking and crunching with the skin ripping and pulling itself back together, until Daisy lay once again a human, across Jon. Jon heaved in another breath and moved to kneel, laying Daisy fully on the ground. He turned to Martin, mouth quirking up slightly until he spotted his arm, still cradled in the other. He immediately straightened up, and clutched around Martin’s injury, inspecting how bad it was. He gave a frown and looked up into his face, and pointed to the door.  
“I can’t go inside, what about-” Martin was interrupted by Jon’s hand prodding his mouth and an insistent point to the door. He tried again, “Jon, seriously, you can’t-” Click. “-k, you just have to trust me, okay?” Martin held his gaze for a second, and then sighed and dropped his head.  
“Fine, fine. I’ll go inside and start to deal with this. Hurry and be safe.” At Jon’s nod, Martin turned and strode inside, leaving the door open behind him. Once inside, he slipped into the back room with their stuff, and pulled out the first aid kit. He didn’t know quite what he needed, so he brought the whole bag with him to the bathroom. He gently went about cleaning out and wrapping his arm, not bothering to muffle short moans of pain. He gave himself a few minutes to process everything that’d happened as he mechanically cleaned his face and arms of blood and drool. His daze was broken by a few thumps, and he poked his head out of the door to see Jon under the arm of Daisy who slowly stumbled along. Martin stepped out in front of them, and put his uninjured arm out for Daisy to grab onto. She did, and he led them through the short hall to their back room, and helped Jon settle her on his sleeping bag. She was out again almost immediately, and Jon slumped into Martin’s side as soon as they were both on the ground. A few moments of soft, and then the telltale click.  
“You alright?”  
“She got my arm really good but, uh, I’ll get it looked at when we get to London. I’ll just have to be careful until then, yeah?” Whirr, click.  
“Of course,” A beat. Click. “Thank you, Martin.”  
“I don’t know why you’re thanking me, Jon, you saved me from whatever the end of Daisy’s hunts look like. And you got Daisy back, Basira’’ll be happy to hear that.” A moment of silence, and then Jon sighs and dips further into Martin’s space. Martin raised an arm around his shoulders, and they sat quietly, waiting for Daisy to wake.

**Author's Note:**

> this took me much longer than it should've to complete but. here we are. hope you enjoyed, and as always you can find me @nidopul on tumblr


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